


Throne

by AetherAria



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (it's canon. fight me.), Anal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Dom Rilla, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, Lizard Kissin' Tuesday (Penumbra Podcast), Multi, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Retractable genitals, Role Reversal, Roleplay, Second Citadel (Penumbra Podcast), Vaginal Fingering, erection denial? if that's a thing?, hoo boy okay ohkay i can do this, hoo boy. im fine. defninitely., i'm not a scalie but i'm also not a coward, more stuff next chapter i'll add tags when that's done., uhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28581192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherAria/pseuds/AetherAria
Summary: There is some contention over the throne of the ruler of the Swamp of Titan's Blooms. Some... rather delicious contention.
Relationships: Lord Arum/Rilla (Penumbra Podcast), Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla (Penumbra Podcast)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 71





	Throne

**Author's Note:**

> KLJFSDJFS LEAF ME ALONE IDK WHAT I"M DOING ANYMORE. I've been trying to write this for ten thousand years and when i actually tried to buckle down and Get To It it just... kept getting longer? to the point where i knew it would be impossible to finish for Lizard Kissin' today? SO. Chapter one for now, which is i HOPE the first HALF. Goddammit.
> 
> Also this is smut because **lmao** this is my 69th _Second Citadel_ fic, which is hilarious and could not pass without comment. It's fine. I'm fine, everyone. This is. well past my usual limits wrt smut and i'm fiiiiiiiiiine. And not blushing.

" _What_ do you think you are doing," Arum drawls, arms folded primly in front of his chest, and from her place draped lazily across Arum's ostentatious floral throne, Amaryllis grins wide.

"Sitting, Arum. It's a _chair_."

"It-" he pulls his head back, snout wrinkling. "It is _not._ It is a _throne._ "

"Which is a _kind_ of chair," she says with a lazy shrug. She has one leg slung over the arm of the throne, and she kicks it out in the air as she watches him glare at her. "Semantics, really. Either way, it's an object built for the purpose of being sat in."

He steps closer, a growl tickling at the back of his throat. "It was _grown,_ in fact, for the purpose of being _sat upon_ by the Lord of the Swamp, you ridiculous creature. It is not meant to be a seat for some prideful little-"

"Well, I'd _rather_ be sitting somewhere else, but I'll settle for this for the moment," she says, and her eyes flash in a way that makes Arum's hackles raise instinctively, that makes his frill flutter in suspicion.

"Go scamper off and find your _preferred_ seat then," he grumbles, ducking his head, and as he approaches she leans further back, draping herself almost catlike over the arms of the seat and smirking up at him.

"I would have, but he's been a bit busy today," she purrs, and Arum narrows his eyes at her and then-

Stumbles, as her implication hits.

His frill flares automatically, and now with context he can taste her arousal on the air, can hear her heart beat a little faster as his lips part in a hiss.

"Y-you- is-" he snaps his bared teeth, and the sly hunger in her eyes makes it rather difficult for Arum to regain his composure as he resumes his approach. "Is that the sort of game you would like to play, then?"

"You've been wound up, today," she says, and some of the playfulness slips, concern and affection gleaming in her dark eyes for only a moment before that sharp smirk reemerges. "I thought the Lizard Lord could use a bit of a break, so I'll just be taking the throne for a bit."

"You will be- _what?_ " he growls, and her posture loosens even more, her eyes on him steady, certain, hungry.

" _My_ throne," she says, "unless you're gonna come over here and do something about it."

Arum narrows his eyes, standing only a few bare steps from her as she smirks down at him from her perch. He stalks closer, and her eyes are sharp and challenging and curious, and Arum knows that she expects him to play along- to challenge her in return, to pounce, perhaps, or to lift her into his arms and reclaim his proper seat-

Something about the way she looks down at him, though. Something about the way she _looks,_ chin tilted defiant, the white curve of her smile, every line of her radiating calm command... something about that look in her eye makes his legs feel weak, makes his hands flex. There is something he wishes to do more than to challenge her, tonight.

Arum slips his cape off, letting it fall in a purple puddle to the floor, and then he stands close enough to grip the arms of the throne, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his human. He hears her heart kick faster at his approach, tastes her excitement pitch deeper, sees the way the muscles in her arms twitch, expecting his next move, expecting some form of playful attack.

Arum stares at her for a long moment, frill flaring slow, a low rumble in his chest, poised and patient, and then-

Arum sinks to his knees before her, carefully meeting her eyes as he takes one of her hands, pulling it to press against his mouth in something close to a kiss.

"The throne is yours, then, Lady Amaryllis," he murmurs, his breath and his teeth gentle against her knuckles. "How may I serve you?"

He hears the way her heart stutters, then thuds hard. Her lips part, eyes going wide for a moment before her smile blooms back. His own heart skips, the giddy delight of surprising her making him feel even more hungry. She moves her hand, then, cupping his jaw and lifting his snout to look at him more directly.

"How may you _serve_ me," she echoes warmly, her thumb brushing the thin line of his mouth, the heat of her skin tickling against him. "I think I like that question."

Arum tries not to pant already, the intensity of her gaze making him feel as if he is _precisely_ where he belongs, on his knees before her. He gazes up, remaining still, waiting to see what she desires of him.

"Your tongue, Arum," Rilla murmurs after the pause, and he obeys automatically, slipping his tongue out to curl around her thumb, taking the digit into his mouth so he may bite down so very gently. He keeps his eyes fixed on her face, watching her react, watching her lips part, watching the way she shifts her hips as his tongue twines around her fingers.

She makes a humming noise, the pad of her thumb brushing against the sharp edges of his teeth as she lowers her other hand to drift lazily over one of his horns, her palm caressing the curve. "Just like that. You are so..." she trails off, humming again, and then Rilla shifts her knees wider, using the hand on his horn to draw him closer. "How do I taste, Arum?" she murmurs, and Arum's tongue flicks up over the pad of her pointer finger, her scent so close and warm and alluring, her heat so _vivid_ , and Arum can taste-

Amaryllis has been-

On her fingers, Arum can taste- _Amaryllis_. She has been _touching_ herself, pleasuring herself, _here_ , draped lazy and smug and expectant on his throne, _knowing_ that he would eventually come and join her.

"Amaryllis," he groans around her fingers, and her smile is so, so wicked. So warm.

"Tell me, Arum," she says through that smile, "how do I taste?"

He curls his tongue more tightly around her digits, feeling his throat begin to rumble in a helpless purr, and he tries to speak as best he can. "Delicious, Lady Amaryllis, as you always are. You make me feel _ravenous_."

"Good," she purrs, and her hand on his horn pushes him a little further down, her knees spreading wider. "Do you want to get a better taste, then?"

Arum whines softly as she unwinds his tongue from around her fingers, cupping his jaw in her hand instead, and he tries to focus beyond his desire, tries to read the smug mischief in her eyes. "I... I... may I, Lady Amaryllis? May I taste you?"

"Hmm... how _polite_ of you. Well, isn't that what monsters do to helpless damsels, Arum? Eat them up?"

Arum chokes a laugh. "Perhaps," he rumbles, and then he carefully presses his teeth against her inner thigh through her dress, "but you will need to inform me if you happen upon any of _those,_ because I certainly see none here." He nips lightly at her skin through the fabric, watching the way that makes her muscles jump, the way she inhales and bites her lip. "A _damsel..._ certainly not. An unconquerable creature such as yourself... Lady Amaryllis... my lady, I will certainly grant you whatever you most wish... if that be my tongue, if you should wish to be _eaten up_ , I will, of course, obey, and your pleasure will be as my own."

"Obedience," she purrs, and he shivers again. "So you want to obey me? You're gonna do exactly what I tell you?"

" _Yes_ ," Arum hisses instantly, his pulse jumping. An easy agreement, he thinks, and torturous in the same breath. The latter because he wants so _much_ , here on his knees with her scent on his tongue, her body thrumming with heat and desire, and he could discard the game and act as he wishes, could taste her and bury himself within her as they both so clearly want without any pretense or preamble. The former-

It is easy, agreeing to obey, because of the sinful spark of delight that comes from denying himself. It is easy, as well, because he trusts, utterly, that whatever she desires will leave him far, far more satisfied than the alternative, when she is finished with him.

"Hmm," she hums slowly, sliding her fingers away from his jaw and leaning back again. "Good. And it's smart of you to flatter me so much before your mouth is too busy to actually _talk_. Now, push my dress up."

Arum doesn't bother to bury the whine, this time. He settles two palms on each of her calves, slipping them up slow and deliberate, his thumbs under the fabric as he presses it up, over her dark, strong thighs. Each inch reveals more of her, and Arum inhales sharply when he realizes that she simply hasn't _bothered_ with undergarments today. He buries a delighted laugh, nuzzling his snout into her inner thigh instead, grazing his teeth against her and flicking his tongue out to gather the rich scent of her arousal, much sharper than the echo he had tasted on her fingers.

"Use your mouth first, your hands when I tell you," she says calmly, her voice warm. "And your cocks don't come out until I say so."

Arum's eyes flick up, surprised, and there is a testing sort of calculation in her eyes. She has never asked this, expected this, before. Another game, another layer to this... particular dynamic. If he finds the instruction distasteful, she will not be bothered to discard it, he knows, but-

Her scent, her taste, the expectation in her eyes and her posture, the undeniable, regal tilt to her chin, the uncertain shape of what she intends for him tonight- Arum is a few reckless breaths from unsheathing already, the slit between his legs hot and sensitive, and the idea of denying himself that relief for Amaryllis' amusement, her pleasure- there is something surprisingly intoxicating about that. More intoxicating by far than any immediate gratification he would feel, shrugging off this possible angle of their play.

He exhales, shaky, and then he nods. "Yes, Lady Amaryllis."

The calculation in her eyes shifts to delight, hot and sparking, and Arum's heart stumbles.

"Good monster," she says. Arum's heart does something else at the praise, twisting and hot, and he flicks his tongue compulsively. She watches him, biting her lip with a hum. "Now. It's impolite to keep your lady waiting, Arum."

Arum nearly laughs, the false primness of her tone a direct counterpoint to his position between her bare legs, a direct counterpoint to her own _meaning_ , in fact, but the second two points are alluring enough that the laughter does not catch. He's too eager for that. Too eager-

He curls two hands around her legs, slides his palms up the backs of her calves, wraps his hands around her thighs and gently pulls them more widely open, his other two hands pressing her skirt up her belly and out of the way, and then he- he cannot seem to tear his gaze away from her own as he leans down, flicking his tongue out to tease her folds. She is already slick- again he imagines her, pleasuring herself with her leg slung lazy over _his throne_ , and he groans helplessly, his eyes fluttering closed. Intoxicating. The scent of her arousal, her taste, how soft her skin against his palms, against his tongue, every inch of her beautiful and tempting.

He tastes her, slipping his tongue between her folds, further in. She hums, then reaches to grip one of his horns, pressing him closer as she rocks her hips against him. He moans, her dominance making him feel hot down to the tip of his tail, and she laughs softly until his lapping tongue draws a gasping breath from her instead.

" _Yes_ ," she hisses, and Arum's eyes close again as her grip on his horn holds him where she wants him. "Like that- just like that."

Arum knows precisely how Amaryllis feels about the length and dexterity of his tongue; she has not been particularly shy about sharing her rather glowing opinions about it. That does not in any way reduce the way her pleasure feeds his own, the way it makes something deep within him _thrum_ when he curls his tongue inside of her with a rumbling growl and he can _taste_ her response, can feel the way she trembles around him.

"Okay," she says after some timeless moments, her inarguable grip on his horn shifting, pulling him up just enough that she can meet his eye as he slips his tongue from her wetness. "Good, good- hands now. I want your fingers."

Arum pants, then grits his teeth hard as he forces himself- _forces_ himself not to unsheath at the easy command of her tone. He wants- he _wants_ -

But her eyes on him, warm and knowing and she looks so _pleased_ when he unclenches his fists, still keeping to her instruction, and he thinks- he thinks that his body is more under _her_ command than his own, tonight. Every night, perhaps.

"Y-yes, Lady Amaryllis," he rasps, but as he shifts to obey she reaches towards him and he goes still.

She cups his face in one hand, lifting his chin to lock her eyes with his.

"Your lady wishes to be _spoiled_ tonight, Arum," she says slyly, and Arum can't help the keening noise that slips from him. "So you're going to use your hands. You're going to finger me, with _two_ hands, you're gonna gonna get me all nice and wet and ready for you, and then after you make me come like that, I want both of your cocks. I want _all_ of you."

So easily, she says such things. The noise in his throat pulls into a rattling moan, and Arum feels himself twitch helplessly at her words even still sheathed, straining desperately against his own self-control. "Wh-whatever my lady desires," he manages. "We- we will need to-"

She presses the familiar vial into one of his hands before he can finish the sentence, her smile so terribly sly, and Arum can't help but break, just for a moment, his amusement pushing past his arousal.

"Precisely how much of this evening did you _anticipate,_ Amaryllis?" he says through a laugh, and her answering smile is without a hint of self-consciousness. It makes his heart _race._

"I had a _few_ ideas," she says in a purr of her own, and then she slips the commanding mask back on with all the ease in the world. "Now. Be a good monster for me, Arum. I want your fingers. I want you to get me ready for you."

So easily, she says- his frill cannot possibly flare any higher, but it is _trying._ He makes himself breathe, makes himself nod, and then he uncorks the oil so he may slick the fingers of one claw-trimmed hand.

Arum is a proud creature. He is not _vain_ , so to speak- he is not overly concerned with his appearance, with how he is perceived _physically_ , but he knows that his body is strong and deft and beautiful. More importantly, more recently, he has been grateful for the shape and utility of his body-

For _this_. Sir Damien has written some rather private lines on the subject of the near poetic coincidence of Arum's four hands for his two lovers, his two cocks (Damien refers to them more demurely in his verse) for his two mates. Arum loves his own body all the more for the ways he can use it to pleasure his humans.

He resettles on his knees, and with his upper pair of arms he gently caresses Amaryllis' thighs, adjusting her position upon the throne to widen her legs, to allow himself more room, so he may use his two lower hands to begin to touch her again. He scratches his blunted claws through the curls above her sex first, making her breathe a laugh, but the laugh breaks into a stuttered breath when his hands seek lower. He teases her vulva for only a moment before he slips two fingers into her cunt, pressing his palm against her clit and moving slowly, gently despite the eager growl Amaryllis gives above him.

He presses his slicked fingers lower, gently testing, and as he pleasures her with his other hand he feels her relax into his touch, and he gently, gently eases a single finger into her ass. He holds that digit still when he feels her tense, a held note as his other hand plays a steady rhythm higher up, and as she relaxes again he starts to flick his tongue to taste her clit again, pumping the fingers of both hands into Amaryllis slowly, slowly.

" _Teasing_ , Arum," she growls, her eyes narrowed when he glances up at her with his tongue still twining around her clit. "I _said_ \- I said get me _ready_. If you're gonna take all night-"

He draws his tongue across her folds, her clit again, deliberate and slow as she gasps, and then he lifts his face enough to respond. "You sit upon the throne, Lady Amaryllis," he says roughly, his hands still moving soft and careful. "And so I will treat you with the delicacy and attention your position deserves. I will obey as you ask, my lady, but you requested that I prepare you, and I intend to do just that, to please you as thoroughly as I am able. I would not dream of _teasing_ you, my lady. To do so would imply that I do not intend to follow _through_."

She exhales, sharp, her hips shifting minutely to seek more pressure. "And- and you say you aren't _articulate_ , Arum, fucksake-"

"I know the poet I risk comparison with," Arum grumbles, fondly. "I speak only-"

He pauses, and Amaryllis' grin blooms delighted and cunning across her face.

"Your heart?" she teases, and Arum scowls. He nips at her inner thigh very lightly, scowling even deeper when she barks a laugh.

"Hush," he rumbles, and instead of nipping again he shifts forward, pumping the fingers of both hands into her with barely more speed, adjusting the angle of his higher hand so he may slip his tongue out to twine and tease her clit again, and Amaryllis' laughter cuts off into a gasp, a moan.

He plies her open slowly, carefully, moving his hands in tandem. He curls the fingers in her cunt just as he slips a second finger alongside the first lower down, hissing a soothing tone as she tenses and gasps. Her noises come from pleasure, though, and apparently frustration, if the insistent way she grips his horn and presses his face harder against her is any indication. Impatient creature, he thinks hazily, fondly, and then he begins to flick his tongue against her quicker, more decisively, and he delights in her growling groans as he continues carefully to stretch her open.

She frowns, moans, growls down at him, but she does not _tell_ him to move faster, she does not give him a new instruction to obey. He knows by her responses, by her trembling, by the way she relaxes at his touch, the way she eases with a moan into each added finger- he knows that despite her impatience he is pleasing her more than well enough.

She is ready- _more_ than ready, judging by her heartbeat, by her shallow breaths, by how easily she takes his fingers. She tosses her head back against the throne with her mouth open in a gasp, and he shifts his focus, curling his fingers again, speeding his motions, flicking his tongue against her clit with more purpose. He releases his grip on one of her legs, hooking her knee over his shoulder so he can reach up, caressing her breast and circling her nipple with a careful, careful claw.

Amaryllis makes a noise, somewhere between a moan and a cry, her back arching and pressing her chest into his hand as her hips buck, and he _forces_ himself not to be so distracted by how intoxicatingly gorgeous, how tempting she is, forces himself not to succumb to his body's desires until she says that he may- he refocuses on her pleasure, refocuses on her _taste_ , on the way she responds to his fingers pumping into her, and he knows precisely how to press those responses further, knows how to push her higher, how to make her-

She arches her back again, and the leg hooked around his shoulder spasms, and then she presses her heel hard into his back. She reaches one hand above her head, gripping the throne for purchase as her body rises to meet his touch, and the other hand she reaches down again, gripping his horn and pressing his face against her.

" _Yes_ yes oh- Arum don't- don't sto- _ah_ -"

He rumbles low in his chest, a comforting growl since he cannot answer her with his mouth buried in her softness to tell her that he could not stop _now_ if the tower collapsed around them both. All he may do is continue, drawing her pleasure out in the way she asked of him, twisting and curling his fingers and moaning helplessly when the adjustment makes her cry out. She grips his horn harder for a moment, then releases him so she can instead twine her fingers between his own on her breast, and he lifts his mouth away for just a moment, just long enough to take in the sight of her, all beauty and joy and revelry.

"Lady Amaryllis," he murmurs, and she manages to open her dark, dark eyes to meet his own. "Will you come for me, my lady?"

Her eyes flutter back closed, and he _feels_ her tense around his fingers, feels her muscles tremble and pulse, and he lowers he mouth to taste her as he carries her through her orgasm, as she flings her head back with a breathy shout that she makes precisely no effort to muffle, her hand gripping him so, _so_ tightly, as if there is any chance in the _world_ that he might leave her now. As if that were remotely possible.

She pants, heavy and quick as she lowers herself back down against the throne, and Arum gently withdraws his fingers. He caresses Amaryllis' sides with his two less slick hands instead, hissing softly and nuzzling her inner thigh as her breathing slows, and then she slits her eyes back open again, her smile soft and warm and predatory, and the heat between Arum's legs _pulses_.

" _Up_ ," she says, and the leg she still has slung over his shoulder nudges a heel against his shoulderblade as he blinks in confusion. "Up, Arum. Kiss. Now."

He declines to comment on the monosyllabic nature of the command, considering the number of times she and Damien have reduced him past spoken word entirely, and instead he gently lowers her legs back down, lifting himself up enough that he can hover over her body on the throne, drawing his tongue up the entire way from the top of her thigh, over her stomach, teasingly past her breast and up the column of her throat. Amaryllis is past teasing, however. She grips the back of his head in a hand, pressing his mouth against hers with noticeable teeth, and Arum growls helplessly as she slips her own short tongue into his mouth, testing the dangerous edges of his teeth.

"Very, very good, Arum," she murmurs, and Arum _whines_ without meaning to, his own breath catching desperate. "I'm sure if Damien were here, he'd have one hell of a poem about that fucking _tongue_ of yours, but-" she hums, stretching beneath him. "Mmm. Not my style. That was... _very_ fucking good, Arum. And you've been so _patient_ , look at you-"

Arum growls, despite the way her words fill him with an inarguable heat, the pressure of desire between his legs growing harder and harder to resist, but he- he is as stubborn as she is. Or- close to it, anyway. He can- he can be good, for her. He _will_. He breathes with as much control as he can manage, and then he nods.

"As you- as you instructed, my lady. Anything you wish."

"You-" she presses her face into his neck, kissing his pulse, and he buries another whine. " _Saints_. Okay. Alright. I'm not done with you yet. Stand up."

**Author's Note:**

> (yes this is an abrupt ending, yes i'm sorry, hopefully see you next week [ **EDIT: SORRYYYYYYYYY I swear to fuck i'm going to finish this as soon as i can** ] for literally a DIRECT followup with more absolute debauchery.) ~~also like if you want to feed the author and make them feel like this is worth finishing a comment wouldn't go amiss no obligation but i'll love you so so dearly i'm very uhhhhhh word. vulnerable about this one. for reasons. anyway thank you for reading~~


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